


he is the mirror.

by PenroseRunner



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, is it romantic or platonic?, this is before 1.09 by the way so keep that in mind, up to you I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-24
Updated: 2013-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 19:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/815296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PenroseRunner/pseuds/PenroseRunner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will and Abigail have things in common. Bad dreams weave them together and Garrett Jacob Hobbs is the thread tied around their throats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he is the mirror.

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly do not know what this is. I can't call it a drabble because it's too damn long...I suppose it's just a little fic exploring these two. It's just a whole bunch of my interpretation, I guess.

Will is holding Abigail again. His chest is pressed against her back, and his cheek is against the side of her head. His lips are by her ear, whispering ragged apologies. His eyes are closed, tears brimming on his lashes.

Her arms are forcefully crossed over her chest, his left hand squeezing her wrists together. His right holds a shining kitchen knife pressed against her porcelain neck, yet unmarred by his desperate brutality.

The hundredth apology has just left his lips when Abigail's head suddenly lolls to the side, her dark hair flinging out over his arms. Her hands drop, resisting no longer. Her legs go limp and she almost falls, but Will throws away the knife and gently lowers her.

Her eyes are milky and half-lidded and her lips are blue and slightly parted. Her skin is sheet-white; all the blood is on her neck and torso, spurting out of a crescent shaped slash on her throat the color of rubies.

No. No, he hadn't...he hadn't harmed her. The knife hadn't left a single mark. He almost did. He almost-

Will's eyes blink erratically towards the discarded knife, which is now to his complete shock soaked with blood. It had been silver a second ago. It was now as red as Abigail's neck.

His murderous sorrow flies away, leaving behind a fiery panic that commands his hands to fly to her throat. Desperately he tries to stop the bloodflow, but it doesn't stop. His fingers claw at her skin, and suddenly Will doesn't know if he's saving her or choking her.

Garret Jacob Hobbs' corpse is suddenly right next to him, his clouded eyes staring straight through him. A rotten smile plays at his lips. "...see? See?" He rasps. And suddenly, he falls forward, and Will can't move away.

* * *

Will jolted awake, the cool air slicing past his face as he sat up. His mouth was agape, grasping for words that wouldn't come. His throat was dry, and there was a pounding echo reverberating through his brain. 

He was in his bedroom, his legs tangled in his sheets, his skin covered in a sheen of sweat. The room was dark, with only dim moonlight peeking through the blinds. He was safe.

Abigail was safe, too. It took Will a second to remember she was spending the night in the spare room upstairs. It had been agreed upon him and Alana that she could stay for the night, see how she'd fare in a different environment and all. Will was initially reluctant about the arrangement; Abigail was still recovering from the incident, which didn't happen all that long ago. How fragile would she be? Would taking her out of such a stable and controlled environment be for the better or the worse?

For some inexplicable reason, he had been a bit glad that she had accepted the offer - she had confessed that she didn't sleep well at the hospital, and the atmosphere was always uneasy and off-putting. Will had unconsciously been looking forward to having her over; he justified it by convincing himself that it would be his chance to try and understand her and what she was going through. That, of course, was his justification for sitting in her hospital room for many a night. He had been morbidly, desperately eager to see what she saw, to know what she thought. After all, Will had enough trouble coping by himself; he needed to know how Abigail did it, how she was dealing with it, what she saw, what was running through her mind. If possible, he wanted to help her deal with it.

He also came to realize that his coping mechanism and his constant denials were making him feel rather... lonely. It wasn't so much as a physical loneliness, a need to have her presence nearby. It was more of a deeper bond, one that Will was still trying to work out. All he knew was that she could understand him, and he could understand her. He felt some strange innate...responsibility for her. Paternal? Maybe, maybe not. That term felt the most natural to him, but he was still not completely satisfied with it.

He had tried the entire day she was here. It had been horribly awkward at first - they didn't exchange words much, at least, not words about what they shared in common. Abigail had been more preoccupied with Will's dogs, as they had all rushed towards her the moment she stepped inside his house. So they spent most of their time together outside, watching his dogs run in the field and play amongst each other.

Will had been in bed earlier that night, staring at the ceiling and wondering if this had been such a good idea. He hadn't been able to hold a conversation with her, due to both his intended subject being too direct and insensitive and his resulting topics being too mundane. Abigail seemed too...distraught? Distant? Uncomfortable? Whatever it was, it wasn't a good mood to be in around him, of all people, because it rubbed off on him a little too much for comfort.

And not to mention his dreams. He still found himself in brief dazes where either he'd see him, her father, or he _was_  him. The visions were all the more intense with the main subject's presence so close to him. Needless to say, that increased the awkwardness between the two by tenfold.

And then the dream came. Will had been expecting it, to be honest. When did he not dream? More accurately these days, when did he not dream about Garrett Jacob Hobbs? However, he had not been expecting Abigail to show up. She rarely did, to his immense relief. If she did, it was a thankfully harmless appearance before her father's corpse took over. But this one...he hadn't been anticipating it, even with the flashes earlier that day.

Will groaned and lurched towards the bathroom. He flicked on the lights with a careless hand and recoiled from the bright glare that flashed in his eyes. Blindly he fumbled for the sink faucet and ran his hand under the icy water before leaning down to splash himself awake. His hand struck a few bottles and they fell; the resulting din sounded as if it came from God Himself.

"Shit," Will grumbled, clumsily rearranging the various bottles back on the sink. One of the dogs had barked a couple of times at the sudden noise - it had most likely disturbed Abigail's slumber as well.

He cursed again and sighed, continuing to wet his face. It didn't help much besides cool his head a little; it didn't make the afterimages go away. His eyes were closed, and he could see the two Hobbs' staring at him with those ghoulish eyes. They taunted him, daring him to go back to sleep so they could run rampant inside his mind and dig their fingers into his mind once more.

Will wiped his face with a towel before glancing at the mirror. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of the apparition in the glass, and his nerves jerked his body around, making his hands fly back to anything that would support him. Breathing for a quick second became more like suffocating, and his blood raced through his veins.

Abigail had let out a gasp at Will's sudden spasm, her hands instinctively recoiling to her chest. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't meant to scare you. I was gonna say something when you turned around and--"

Will shook his head, running a hand through his unkempt hair. "It's fine, I shouldn't have reacted like that," he said, his voice still tinged with exhaustion. "Sorry about that. And, the noise too. Just still...on edge, I suppose."

"I knew some noise had woken me up; I just wasn't sure if I was dreaming or not," Abigail said before looking down and suddenly looking back up. Her cheeks were tinged with red.

Will then remembered that he slept in nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts. He started for the door, but she was in the threshold, and they both fumbled past each other. Abigail stepped back towards the wall, giving Will a clear path to his disheveled bed to save themselves from further embarrassment.

"What did you dream about?" she asked. She was turned around, giving Will the chance to pull on some pants. "Was it...about him? My dad?"

"How did you know I was dreaming?"

"Why wouldn't you be?" She countered, turning back to him with a raised brow. "You said you were 'on edge.'"

Will was silent at first. Would she want to hear what he had dreamt about? Who he had dreamt about? He ultimately decided that it was not a good idea, and yet he spoke.

"You could say that, yes, I dreamt about...your dad," he began, rubbing his eyelids. "But it wouldn't be the whole truth."

Abigail leaned back against the wall, pajama-clad legs crossed. "What _would_  be the whole truth? Unless you don't want to talk about it. I'd understand if you didn't."

Will did, and he didn't. This wasn't exactly the best first real conversation to have with her, but it was still a first conversation. "Funny how we actually start talking to each other at 2:30 in the morning," he noted, almost to himself.

Abigail smiled. "No offense, but I had an easier time talking to your dogs than I did with you," she admitted sheepishly.

Will attempted a smile and nodded in a matter-of-fact way, as if he had heard it a million times before. But any trace of vague amusement disappeared from his features, and he silently inhaled as he recalled the dream as if it were a memory. "I dreamt about your dad...and I dreamt about you."

The last word had come out hushed, but Abigail evidently still heard it. Her brows knitted together as she pushed herself away from the wall. "...me?" she said incredulously, patting her collarbone.

He regretted saying it. "It was nothing, I'm sorry, just--"

"But it wasn't, was it?" she interrupted. She tentatively stepped closer. "You dreamt about my dad too, so it couldn't be nothing."

"Look, just forget it, I don't think I want to talk about it."

"But you do. You do, that's why you suggested I stay the night, right?" Abigail must've realized how accusatory she sounded, and immediately lowered her tone. "Will, I know you want to talk to me about...you know. It's eating at you inside, and talking to the psychiatrists won't help. You need to talk to someone who knows, someone who will... understand."

Will paused. It sounded like personal experience coming from her, and it dawned on him that it probably was.

"I've wanted to talk to you for a while," Abigail said quietly. She wrung her hands with a lax urgency as she spoke "I mean, it doesn't help, sitting in a room with a bunch of other hopelessly depressed people and talking to them as if they were there. Talking to Alana - Dr. Bloom doesn't help either. She just tells me that I need time to adjust and-and to cope, but I don't need that. Not just that. I need you."

Will had opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by Abigail's flustered, "I mean, just you, as in, to talk to."

"I know, I - Abigail, I know," he assured.

A moment of silence passed between the two. Will took a second to gather his nerves before he spoke.

"I had dreamt...that I was holding a knife to your throat," he murmured. "In the same way your father did. I kept saying sorry, pressing the knife to your neck, but I never did it. But you fell anyway, and when you did, your whole neck was slashed open." His voice drifted off. "But I didn't, I swore I didn't."

The back of his eyes started to hurt, as if he had stared into the sun for too long. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. "You were already dead when you fell. You were alive one second, and then your body was a day old the next. I panicked, tried to save you, but you can't save a corpse."

Abigail had an unreadable expression on her face. Will could see horror in her eyes, but also a strange cognizance that scared him a little. She had dreams like his.

"Then your father appeared. Right next to me." Will pursed his lips together, trying to keep himself from being too distraught. "Asking me if I saw anything."

"Saw what?" Her voice was quiet, reluctant to hear the answer.

"I don't know," Will shrugged. "But he asked me. He smiled the whole time, I remember. Almost...almost taunting me as I tried to save you, to bring you back to life somehow, to reverse what I had somehow done to you, to revive you so I could say sorry a million times more and do it myself--"

A sharp pang shot through his brain, interrupting him. Pain crossed his features as he ran his hand back through his hair to grip at the back of his head.

Abigail watched him with concern in her countenance. She leaned forward a little, as if to go to him, but uncertainty held her back.

Will looked up at her. "I'm sorry, Abigail."

"You don't have to apologize. It was just a dream," Abigail softly said. "You didn't mean it. It didn't happen. I'm still standing here, aren't I?"

Will was honestly afraid that if he blinked, Abigail would be on the floor lying in a pool of her own blood.

He ducked his head, the weight of his searing migraine rolling up to the back of his skull. He had just closed his eyes when he heard movement, and suddenly the crown of his head was pressed against fabric. A white blouse entered his periphery, and soft hands gently grasped his head, fingers trailing through his tousled hair.

"It'll be okay, Will," Abigail murmured, lowering her chin so that it rested on his head. "It's just a dream. Dreams pass eventually."

"This one won't," Will breathed. "Or the others. They never pass. They stay there, burnt in my eyelids so that I see them every time I blink."

He was suddenly very self-conscious of their intimacy. He didn't feel _that_  way towards Abigail Hobbs, but it still gripped his heart and quickened his pulse. He swore his breathing felt light - was he breathing at all?

"I get them, too. All the time. Every night - to be honest, I've actually been losing sleep these past few weeks."

Will's head left Abigail's chest and he looked up at her. In the dimness he could see her wide blue eyes, and the young bags under them. She still looked much better off than he did - pure, saint-like. A beacon in a dark storm. Will suddenly felt like he understood Garrett Jacob Hobbs - just for a second, he understood the overwhelming love for this girl. That second alone scared him, shocked him. He was not Garrett Jacob Hobbs; he had spent many a night convincing himself of that fact. Tonight was such a night.

Will blinked his tired eyes and shook his head. "Then...why say that they'll pass when they clearly won't, not even for you?" He asked, realizing that Abigail's hands were still placed on either side of his head. They felt nice; her skin was cool to the touch.

Her eyes flickered downward, almost out of shame. "I mean, sometimes it works - or, it seems it does. I tell myself that, after every time I wake up, 'They're just bad dreams, they'll go away and leave the sweet dreams behind.' And I guess I trick myself into anticipating them so much, to the point where I desperately ignore the nightmares and wait for the better dreams to come." She gave a sad, wistful smile. "As you can guess, they never do."

Will pursed his lips and found himself grasping one of Abigail's hands to his head - it surprised him that he did so. His eyes had darted off to the side. "Have you been to Doctor Lecter about them, your nightmares?"

Abigail had realized where her hands had been when Will touched her, and she withdrew them to her lap. Will almost didn't want to let go of them, but he did. His head felt light and ready to topple over. "Just once. I've been talking to Doctor Bloom more - she visits me more at the hospital, so we've talked a lot. She tells me to fight against it, to realize they're not true, they're just scary images flickering in my brain, that they don't mean anything."

"And Doctor Lecter?"

Abigail hesitated. Will looked at her; her gaze was directed at her lap. It took her a moment before she gingerly took Will's hand in her two own and said, "He told me to embrace it. To let it envelope me."

"To succumb to it," Will said quietly. His words held a weight that he didn't like bearing.

She gave a short nod before giving a reluctant sigh. "I don't think I can handle that. Not now, at least. Not for a while," she confessed. "I told him I could, but I can't. So I lie to myself, because that's how scared of the truth I am."

The words pierced Will like daggers, each one it's own silver blade embedded in his sweat-drenched skin. They were both too alike. Garrett Jacob Hobbs was there in both of their reflections, he was there with a dripping-red knife in his hand, he was their shadows, and he was the single damned thread holding these two together. He was not leaving, he was not going to just "fade away". He was the mirror between them.

"Abigail," Will began, bringing himself to look into her lidded eyes. Her brow was furrowed and her blood-red lips were pressed together. "You are nothing like your father, and you never will be. That is one of the few truths I'm certain on."  
Abigail's eyes widened, and Will could see, to his surprises, tinges of despair creeping into her features. Something was tormenting her, something that Will thought he could relate to - but he knew he couldn't. Not completely. They were not alike in some aspects, and he liked it that way.

"This is what I was talking about," Abigail whispered, a scornful, humorless smile stretching across her lips. "The lying to make yourself feel better. Only, you're doing it for me and you both."

Will didn't say anything, but he felt his heart sink deeper and deeper as the reality of their situation sank in as well until it hurt to breathe.

Abigail Hobbs was right. He hated that she was right; he wanted to tell all the lies in the world to try and cut that demented thread that kept them connected to her father. But his words were dull scissors, blades worn and soft and weak, and the thread was a coil of hangman's rope, newly spun and gleaming.

"In my dreams, I see my mom, and Marissa, and I'm the one with their blood on my hands. I have the knife that he used to kill Mom, and I place it over my scar -" Will had realized her hand was placed at her bare neck, her fingers coiled around an imaginary blade over her ugly red scar. She almost didn't seem to recognize that she had formed the gesture. "- and I finish the job, and I go so slow, but I don't feel a single thing."

Abigail's voice began to crack. Her hand dropped from her neck. "And then I'm holding Marissa, and she's not moving, and she has holes all over her body, and so I do the only thing that makes sense - the only thing that is meant to be...I push her into the antlers, and each one just...slides right through her, right through the holes, perfectly." Her voice had faded; it was now empty of any emotion. "And usually, I feel my world flipping around, and _I'm_  on the antlers, like the other girls, and I don't feel a thing. I see only the sun and the dark at the same time, and sometimes, someone watching me from the distance. It's usually my dad, but..."

Will looked up at her after her pause. He didn't say a word, just waited patiently for her to work up the nerve. He was also working up the nerve to listen to it, because he damn well knew what she was going to say and it was threatening to make him sick. His bones started to tremble, but he wasn't cold.

Abigail looked at his dark eyes and he could see she felt ashamed. "Sometimes, I see you in the distance, watching me from afar. As if I were your handiwork." Her voice was quiet on that last word.

Will clenched his jaw. His head was swimming. He could see himself doing it, staring at Abigail's body placed on the antlers, his hands smeared with her blood. He clenched his hands as he pulled himself out of the image, focusing on Abigail's eyes and on how his fingers dug into his palms.

Abigail noticed. "I'm sorry," she whispered, concern crossing her features as she tilted her head to look at Will's lowered face. Her soft, smooth hand found his stubbled cheek.

Will tensed at her gentle touch, but he relaxed into it after a second and clamped his hand over hers once more. His eyes were closed as he concentrated on Abigail's presence to ward off the mental images. She was here. She was not a lifeless body of his or her father's doing. She was alive and she was leaning in and she was now hugging him.

Will accepted it almost a little too eagerly; he wrapped his arms around her tightly, one hand between her shoulder blades and the other cradling the back of her head. Abigail had been taken by surprise, but she slowly eased into it and placed her hands on his back.

"That's all we can do, isn't it?" Will murmured into her shoulder. Her hair tickled his face, but he dared not move. "Just say sorry to each other about what we dream."

"It's not all," Abigail responded. "We can still stick through it together. Try to push it back, or try to accept it."

"Which one would it be?"

Abigail was silent for a second. Will could feel her breathing against him. "I don't know, to be honest."

He tried to imagine fighting it back. He had done so much of that, but Garrett Jacob Hobbs grew and grew until he was around every corner Will turned. He tried to imagine accepting it. He tried imagining what it felt like to admit that he did in fact like murdering Garrett Jacob Hobbs and that he was like him. Both options were less than favorable.

"I don't know, either," Will ultimately said. He didn't have anything else to say. He just wanted to sit here and feel Abigail's head laying on his shoulder, to feel the reassurance of the fact that she was there.

"Will?"

"Hm?"

"Do you think I'll ever be normal again?"

He didn't respond immediately. He thought of her walking down the hall at school, feeling the burning stares of passerby directed at her scarf, and what it hid. People would be scared of her, people would be morbidly curious of her - they would both isolate her and suffocate her.

"I hope you will be," he murmured.

Abigail tightened her embrace. "I probably won't." She gave a soft laugh, edged with spite. "Half of them will gawk at me, thinking I'm some secret murderer who got off scot-free. The others probably won't leave me alone, poking and prodding me about everything I know, like I'm some kind of celebrity. And college is almost out of the question."

He reflected on that last sentence. "Your dad--"

"Each of the girls had gone to all the colleges I applied for."

There was an awkward silence.

Will glanced at his alarm clock. "You should go back to bed." He slowly began to pull away.

Abigail jumped, and her hands clenched at the back of his shirt. "Wait!" she exclaimed. She buried her face into his shoulder and tightened her grip.

Will was at a loss for words for a second. He could only think to just sit there, letting himself become enveloped in her warmth. He could still smell the shampoo in her hair - his shampoo. It had a strange calming effect over him.

"You'll be going back to the hospital early in the morning," Will reminded, suddenly finding that he hated saying that. "You need some rest."

"What do you think I've been trying to do the whole night?" she retorted.

"I..." Will stopped himself. He had to contemplate his decision before he resignedly said," I have some sleep medicine you can take, if you want some."

Abigail pulled away, her hands on Will's shoulders. A skeptical look was on her face. "Are you sure _you_  don't need any?"

Will gave a sort of half-smile. "Thanks, but I don't think I'd want to stop needing it if I tried it."

"Why do you have some, then?"

"In case I give in."

Abigail cast her gaze downward, as if she knew what he meant. "I guess I'll have a little."

The two went to the kitchen, careful not to disturb the tangle of sleeping dogs in front of the fireplace. Abigail had stayed close to Will as if she were trying to stay away from the shadows on the walls. Will had debated on holding her hand, but ultimately decided against it. It was too intimate - but what would that make their embrace to be? He decided to push that to an insignificant corner of his brain.

The bottle of medicine had been almost full with a dark, amber-like liquid. Will poured a spoonful, which Abigail gulped with a wince and a shudder. He then proceeded to give her a cup of tea to pass the time until the medicine took effect.

"How do you feel?" Will asked, taking a seat across from Abigail at the windowside table. It was a dumb question, but he didn't want to sit in silence.

Abigail's gaze met his, then awkwardly ducked towards the table. "About what?"

"About...whatever's on your mind, I guess."

She hummed in thought. "I really don't want to go back to the hospital," she said. "I've had enough of it."

"What about therapy? With Doctor Bloom?"

"I..." Her voice faded. "I know she means well, y'know, but it doesn't really help. But I can't exactly just leave and expect to get better immediately."

"You have to push it back or accept it," Will recalled. "Doctor Bloom says push it away, so are you listening to Doctor Lecter, then?"

Abigail gently blew into her mug before taking a sip. "I would rather listen to you, actually," she admitted.

Puzzlement crossed over him. "But...I don't have anything to say. I don't know what I would say."

She shrugged. "You don't have to say anything. I'd be okay with just listening to you breathe next to me."

That struck him. He felt the same way; he wanted to sit by her and realize that she was there and that her father was not between them. If they were so close to each other, the thread between them wouldn't feel as tight. It'd be as if there wasn't a thread between them at all - Garrett Jacob Hobbs wouldn't be seen if all Will could see was Abigail.

A yawn escaped Abigail's lips, catching his attention. "I think it's starting to kick in a little," she said, rubbing at the corner of her eye. "It's definitely stronger than I thought it would be."

"A reason why I debate on using it often," Will pointed out. He took Abigail's mug and settled it in the kitchen before returning to her. Then she got up and started for her room. Will had remained close behind, almost as if he were scared she would keel over any second. 

Abigail reached her room and tucked herself into the plain covers. Her eyes were already half-closed, seduced by the whisper of sleep. Then they opened, giving Will an inquisitive look. "Do you think Doctor Bloom would be alright with me coming here again?" she asked.

Will gave a small, meek smile. "It'd be nice."

Abigail smiled.

"Thank you, Will," she said softly before leaning up and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "We should do this again some other time."

"Some other time," he agreed.

And with that, Abigail Hobbs laid her head back on her pillow, her dark hair splaying out over the pillow. Her eyes closed, and the smile faded from her lips. Something else flashed over her, but it quickly faded out. 

Will did not leave immediately. He just had to stay, to marvel at how quickly she had fallen asleep. How much of it was real? How much of it was fake, a strained effort at normalcy? He wanted to desperately know, and yet he wanted to leave her alone.

And so he did. He walked back to his room and laid out a towel on his sweat-soaked mattress. He laid on his side, focusing on leveling his breathing and letting sleep crawl over him. It took him a while for his eyes to blink longer than a few seconds. 

 Garrett Jacob Hobbs appeared in the corner of his room, sitting on the floor and giving him a devilish sneer.  Will stared back, completely still. His pulse quickened, but he did not give the apparition the satisfaction of seeing him react. With a shuddering exhale, he blinked a couple more times. 

The man he had killed was gone. 

Will felt the thread again. It tightened around his throat, but at the same time it slackened. 

He closed his eyes, praying for sleep without dreams that he wasn't entirely sure he could bare anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I am so sorry that this is so long, oh good lord.
> 
> Now that 1.09 has aired, I am planning on writing a scene from Abigail's perspective, because that episode has tons of material to explore.


End file.
